about Peeta

“Your favorite color… it’s green?” 

“That’s right.” Then I think of something to add. “And your’s is orange.”

“Orange?” He seems unconvinced.”Not bright orange. But soft. Like the sunset,” I say. 

“At least, that’s what you told me once.” 

“Oh.” He closes his eyes briefly, maybe trying to conjure up that sunset, then he nods his head. “Thank you.” 

But more words tumble out. “You’re a painter. You’re a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces.” 

Then I dive into my tent before I do something stupid like cry.